I've Got You Under My Skin
by CrimsonReno
Summary: Santana Lopez is the product of a twisted experiment is and forced into violent internationally televised free-for-all deathmatches against death row inmates. She has to fight for freedom. But who really does the killing? The Slayer, or the Player?
1. Turn Me Around

_**Hey guys! LeReno169 here! So this is the first chapter of CrimsonJoy's and my collaboration fic ;D We're taking it in turns writing the chapters and this one just happened to be mine ;) This is like, a combination of Glee and the movie Gamer, so for those of you who have seen the film, you'll have an idea of what might happen. For those who haven't, well, you'll just have to read this then, won't you? ;)**_

_**We do not own Glee, nor do we own Gamer. Unfortunately :(**_

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Bullets jet past, whistling through the air in every direction. Two grenades explode almost simultaneously on either side of me, chunks of concrete and debris raining down around me and I narrowly avoid getting hit on the head. Blood curdling shouts and unhinged screams fill my ears. The scents of fire, gunpowder, blood and corpses overwhelm my nose so powerfully, I can almost taste the putrid amalgamation upon my tongue.

I run to the doorway of a nearby abandoned apartment building, taking shelter from the fray. My grip on my Galil rifle unfailing as I hold it up to my shoulder, my cheek pressed against the cool metal and my eye narrowed down the scope. I keep my left eye open to maintain better observation of my surroundings. Above me, at the top of the flight of stairs at my front, a man stands in a similar stance to my own, his Scar-H spewing rounds into another emotionless puppet. He doesn't even register me as I run towards him, dropping my gun to swing at my side from the shoulder-strap, ripping my blade from its sheath at my hip.

I can see his eyes widen slightly as he himself knows I'm coming for him, but still he doesn't turn in time. I plunge my knife down into his shoulder, swiftly retract it and sink it deep into his neck. He falls to his knees, releasing my dagger from the confines of his muscles, blood spouting from the wound.

Without wiping the red stain from the metal, I re-sheath my close combat weapon, grabbing my rifle again. I stalk through the shadows, my eyes searching for any threat.

A gunshot echoes around me and a large hole appears in the wall in front of me.

I whirl around and pull the trigger, not even having time to think for myself.

Another body falls from a gap in the ceiling and sprawls at my feet, red flowing from one of her eyes.

I find myself crouching over the corpse and searching through her padded, urban camouflage. I stop only when my fingers touch upon the rifle ammunition I was apparently searching for, quickly pocketing it and running away from the scene, through to the other side of the building.

More bombs detonate as I break out into sunlight once again. I don't stop, sprinting across the street to the neighbouring building. Dust shrouds the road as people like me fight, throwing explosives and firing weapons. I dive to the ground as an RPG screeches past and take cover behind a dumpster against the wall of my current target building. A second later, I'm rushing around to the side to find an entrance away from where I had just come.

This appears to be some sort of factory, stripped down and ruined. Graffiti covers the one seemingly surviving wall spanning the length of the room. I read the words "SLAYERS!", "NOBODY CARES.", "THE END IS NEAR." and "THIS IS ALL YOU DESERVE." before I feel myself turning away and sprinting towards a trench nearby. I drop to the ground, sliding into the trench feet first and take out anyone near me.

I release my magazine and drop it to the floor before quickly clicking another into place, my hands unnaturally steady. I see a group of about six men and women, banding together and jogging towards my cover, a little farther down from my position. My fingers pull a mechanism on my rifle and aim towards them. I pull the trigger again but this time my weapon attachment fires a grenade and flames erupt as bodies are thrown up high, chunks of flesh landing some distance away.

I watch as someone runs over to one of the females, whose body had miraculously remained mostly in one piece. The man moves to stand over her head and he squats down three times. Even from here, I can see the distant look in his eyes.

"He fucking tea-bagged her!" A voice shouts from somewhere over my shoulder.

I watch as the tea-bagger is brutally killed by a 6"4 man covered in tattoos, with a Spas-12.

I turn to see a figure running up the naked, metal stairs in the center of the building, up to the next level. A tracer shot embeds itself deep in his knee and he falls at the top step. He makes no sound, but attempts to drag himself up the rest of the steps. A stiletto blade twirls down from the floor above and sinks deep into his temple. This time he stays down.

I don't want to move.

I don't want to tempt fate more than I already have.

I tense as I try to hold my position, I'm about as safe as possible right now, here in this trench. Admittedly it's still not safe at all, but I know that if I move, I will be worse off.

I can't help it when my hands switch my rifle back to semi-automatic. I try to stop my knees from straightening as I stand, but all the will-power in the world can't help me now.

I take off in a sprint again, heading straight for the same staircase I had just witnessed that man soundlessly die upon. I rip two smoke grenades from my belt and throw one to either side of me. They burst on impact and thick, murky smoke erupts from their shells, shrouding the surrounding area like two unending cloaks, merging together and veiling me from oncoming fire.

I reach my hand out when I think I'm close enough and close my fist around the thin rail lining the stairs and drag myself forward, propelling myself up them faster.

I reach the top and quickly do a full 360, taking out three or so competitors in quick succession before another stiletto is flying towards me, graceful and deadly.

I watch as it soars at my face, as if in slow motion.

I take a deep breath.

I've reacted before I've realised. I duck as the blade came within arm's reach. I hear it as it whispers past my ear, I hear the sound of fabric tearing and feel it as the edge of the sharp steel nicks the skin of the angle between my neck and my shoulder.

I'm not even allowed to register the pain.

My USP.40 handgun is in my left hand and pointing towards where the knife came from. The rounds pour out and yet another body slumps to the ground ahead of me.

Again, I sprint towards and past it. My muscles are aching, agonisingly protesting, begging me to stop. But I can't. My breath hitches and comes shallow and uneven. Sweat pours down my face and into my eyes. I want to raise my arm to wipe it away. But I can't. I can only blink furiously to try and clear my vision.

I find myself standing in front of a shattered window at the far right corner of the factory, surrounded by more broken glass and empty panes. I train my gun down to the ground outside, observing for more competitors.

It's close, I can feel it.

I hear a footstep behind me, crushing the shards that plague the floor.

But I don't turn.

I tense, desperately trying to turn around, my heart rate going into overdrive.

But I can't.

Over the pounding in my ears I hear a gun being cocked slowly.

They're playing with me, knowing I'm incapable of facing them.

I try to do something, anything, any trace of hope I could ever dream of having quickly dissipating.

"Turn… Me… Around…" I grunt through gritted teeth.

I hear another step.

Suddenly, finally, I'm being dragged around to point the barrel of my rifle at my hunter.

Within a second I'm spewing bullets into her chest, her blood spraying over me and the glass. She falls out of the window frame behind her and crashes to the ground below with a sickening crunch.

A resounding clink sounds from mere feet away and I look from the fallen body to the source of the noise.

Too late.

Heat floods my face as the flames burst forth from the tiny cylindrical device. I'm blown off my feet and thrown backwards, smashing through the one intact window. I smack into the roof of a Mustang, instantly creating a deep, vast dent.

I cough and splutter as I try to recover. Blood spreads down from somewhere on my head and over my face, my eyebrow and lower lip feel like they're burst, my camouflage has small fires dancing upon it, burning down to my skin and a relatively large chunk of shrapnel is lodged deep into my thigh.

I want to wipe the blood from my face, pat out the fires, rip out the shrapnel and tie my belt above the wound.

But instead I roll off of the car, fall face down in the dirt and stagger back to my feet.

Almost there.

I limp forwards, past other people in similar states to myself, pushing them out of my way with what little strength I have left.

Stumbling, I round a corner and see my objective about a hundred yards away.

A lead pipe lays on the ground next to me, which I use as a crutch to force myself onwards.

I'm so close, yet I wouldn't even care if someone kills me now. This agony is unendurable.

After what feels like a lifetime, I reach the large dome I had been searching for this entire time. I place my hand flat upon its surface, gasping for breath and hunching over. A light scans over my palm and fingerprints and I collapse to the ground, shuddering as I continue to lose blood.

In my head I can hear the heavily accented voice of an English woman and I know I'm not the only one to receive the message.

"End game. SNIXX wins."

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_Wahey! So this is kinda a surprise for CrimsonJoy, I got too excited to wait for her to get online before uploading it.. Sorry CJ :( Hope you like it though :D_

_So what did you guys all think? I've been dying to write something like this for a while now, but with my own fic "Blood for Blood", I kinda can't give the characters Galils, RPGs, Grenades and smoke bombs because it's a western... So this was great fun to write XD Leave a review and let us know your thoughts! Thanks for reading :D_


	2. Slayers

**A/N: Hey, CrimsonJoy here, sorry for the wait, but **_**someone **_**uploaded this story earlier that I thought and**__**I was so busy. But I'm back on track now, and the updates will hopefully be coming faster now. Btw, I'm only messing partner, I still love you.**

"First, there was 'Society'. A real life sim environment, where you did not only control a simple pixilation, but a real, living, breathing human being in a game that challenged the worlds view on gaming forever."

The crowd cheered and clapped, their hearts racing and adrenaline pumped at the words, as the curly haired man sitting opposite the speaker grinned a sadistic grin, waving happily to the spectators who hung on every word.

Video clips off 'Society' played in the background, controlled people dancing or drinking, some were riding bikes or in cars, others stripping and grinding against others. Little arrows pointed from their heads with little pennames written there, the gamer's nickname.

"Gamers walked, talked and rocked their 'Sim', taking a break from real life to live through another person, having fun and living a new life, if only for a day. Society took the world by storm, and was everyone's guilty pleasure in what seemed to be, overnight."

A video played on screen, Will Schuester longing on a chair and smiling brightly, as he always did. "You can get paid to be controlled," he used hand gestures to further get his point across, bring one hand close to his chest and moving the other away. "Or you can pay to control."

The images faded and a name flashed on screen as the interviewer spoke again. Slayers.

"Six months ago, Mr Will Schuester released a second game, one that went beyond the simple control of a person's everyday life. 'Slayers'. Slayer's gives the player full control of a death row inmate in full scale flesh and blood combat."

The speaker paused for dramatics, letting the audience soak in the well-known information with their endless applause.

"Slayers," the interviewer repeated calmly, "If Society let us live through others, Slayers let us die through others."

The interviewer smiled her gorgeous smile, flawless teeth bared to the world, whose eyes were glued to their screens as they begged for more, like hungry dogs baying for food. Will sat with his legs crossed at the knee, his eyes alight and seemingly sweet.

"Players are connected to their very own inmate via remote controlled brain cells, infected with micro-chips to that the Slayer seems to have no mind of his or her own, all is controlled by their Player."

A shot flashed up on the giant screen behind the interviewer and Will Schuester, of two girls. One, a beautiful, tall blonde with bright blue eyes, obviously very well off, smiling and waving warmly into the camera, her eyes flashing with excitement and happiness. Under her picture was her name. Brittany Pierce; Gaming legend, Player of SNIX.

The other, a smaller Latina girl, covered in blood and dirt, her face twisted into a snarl of malice and anger as she held a large gun tight in her hands while the air around her was anything but peaceful, as blood sprayed crimson and dust enough to hinder sight blew around her like a hurricane. In small letters the name she was known to the world as was written; SNIX, Slayer, winner of twenty-seven rounds.

The screen took up the entire background, so it seemed as if the interviewer and the genius who had created the games everyone loved were a part of it all themselves. The interviewer continued to speak as Will relaxed in his chair, basking in the love and respect everyone showered him in. The screen returned to what it had been before, a bloody show of what Slayers truly was; a horrific warfare where people were helpless to save themselves.

Once the applause had died down once again, the woman being paid to speak to Will finally turned to him, smiling a huge fake smile, something that came easy to her now.

"Slayers," she said in a light voice to Will, who only grinned at her. "Tell us, why is it not murder?" Her voice carried the slight tone of a parent scolding their child, but it was all scripted and Will knew exactly what to say to reel in the audience.

Will's smile fell and his face moulded into one of near sarcasm as he began to spell out his reasoning to the world. "Excuse me Miss, but all of our Slayers are volunteer death row inmates, who have seen an opportunity at freedom and have risen to it." His smile was built up again. "They stay alive for thirty sessions, they get set free. I think it's a pretty good deal." The crowd cheered him on.

"The money Slayers raises funds our entire prison systems, keeping the bad guys behind bars and the world safe. The federal government was for it entirely and it was voted in by the public themselves." He continued, his voice delighted and relaxed as he uncrossed his legs.

But the woman was not finished yet; she had many questions that had to be answered. "But what about the, what you could almost call robots? Real human beings with previously programmed actions and no one controlling them, living is next to impossible for them."

Will Schuester smiled, his face stretching up like a villain one would see in their childhood films. "There are plenty of weaker men and woman in the prison systems that could not survive Slayers, shouldn't they have a chance at being released? Plus, they only have to survive on session before their released. They roll the dice and take a chance at being released."

The interviewer drilled her dark eyes into him, her voice hard as she falsely attempted to draw a bad remake out of the man, who sat reclining in his chair lazily. "But is it not true that everyone who undergoes the procedure to become a Slayer, or a member of Society, will have a distinct IP address, like a common laptop or mobile device?"

Will had his comeback ready for her, but made sure to keep a poker face, not quite smiling, but trying to look some way startled by her questioning. "Well, yes, but control in only located within the workplace, so once off the field, the Slayer, or similarly the cast of Society, is free to be who they are once again."

Continuing, but letting his voice take a more commanding note, Schuester said. "Some people find this a relief, others…" he paused and took a leisurely breath, "Not so much. People sometimes need a little control," he met the interviewer's eyes, smiling again. "Someone else to make the hard decisions for you, no responsibilities, no commitment."

"Think about it." He said simply, before leaning back in his chair, his point proven.

The woman finally broke her gaze from his and turned to the audience. "We will, Mr Schuester, we will."

Applause drowned out the music that played soon after, signalling the end of the show and the welcome and the next guest, as the world's television screens were switched off and the computer screens lit up as people logging into their Sims, ready to go back into their virtual lives and live them like they were young people again.

The whole world was white, like huge sand dunes of powder almost. The sky was a dull grey with tinges of blue where the sun struggled to save the sorry souls that dwelled below.

Men and woman alike jogged along the white ground, driven on by officers in dark uniforms, most carrying guns or other weapons to threaten the joggers.

The running people were for the most part chained together in some way or another, wearing white t-shirts and trousers that contrasted almost comically with the filth the people were covered in. Everything was bright, almost blinding, but it did nothing for the dark world that these people lived in.

Some men and women relaxed in the small amounts of shade, released from their bindings while others went out. Here, a man stood over another, a white rock of, seemingly, dust held tightly in his hand while a wild look blazed in his brown eyes. His hand brought the heavy object smashing onto the grounded man's head while the group that had quickly surrounded him went wild with screams of encouragement and rage.

His brains were scattered over the floor, staining the white ground red with blood. Growing confident and insanity glowing in his eyes, the living man sent blow after blow onto the dead man's skull, destroying and grinding it into the ground.

Officers were already running towards him when he seemed to realise what he had done. Springing to his feet, he began sprinting away from the scene, his retreating figure disturbing the near silent and unmoving atmosphere.

The men controlling the scene raised their weapons to their shoulders, and the man was thrown into the sky, landing with a dull thud and a trickle of blood, dead. That was it; people went back to their running or relaxing, as if it had never happened.

In the shade, alone, I sat. My fingers brushed through the dusty ground, my mind elsewhere as I watched the scene, unaffected by anything. Being in the game did this to a person; you were no longer affected by death and destruction.

My name is Santana Lopez, though I am known to the world simply as SNIX, as is my 'stage name'. I picked up a handful of the still unknown sandy substance I walked upon, playing with it in my hands while I watched the other inmates fight amongst themselves or playing games such a basketball with the old equipment.

You needed to keep fit when you were in the game; it was that or die in a sense. I could feel the gunmen standing on the miniature mountains of white, watching everyone's movements with guns at the ready. Great, that idiot with the rock as made them nervous; today will be a tense exercise.

Some people walked around on crutches, or with multiple scarring or even open wounds. Some people would heal, some wouldn't.

I watched with little to no interest as I thought back to a less horrifying time in my life, wishing to go back in time before any of this happened to me.

I remember my life before I was controlled in my every movement, I envy the people outside in a way, but they don't understand. They think that all this is a game, that they are just having a little fun, they don't think of the lives they ruin, or the ones they take completely.

I roll my eyes at my own thoughts. Only the ones that are too far gone can see what has become out our world, the people who have a chance at saving it are cruel, and cannot even glance past their own desires to see the truth.

I glance up once again at my little world of shit. A bloody mess was left at two different intervals on the otherwise flawless park, less than usual.

**Brittany's POV**

I lay relaxed in my room, on my back as screens floated around me. I loved all the incredible technology my parents would buy for me, but I knew in my heart they were attempting to buy my love. It hurt that they were never around, but I got over it.

I felt my mind wander and blinked to bring my world back into focus, flicking through screens to find something new.

Social programs called out to me, messages from friends and admirers flooding in more and more every day, but I was never bothered to answer them, so focused on Slayers to do much else.

I was so close to winning, it was incredible. When I had first purchased SNIX as my Slayer, it had been because of her mesmerising physical state, and because I couldn't bear to kill her myself in battle, she was hot of course. I got the best of the best with my parent's money too, and she was the best.

The entire room I lay in was a screen in a way, the walls were a computer that would responded to a simple flick of my wrist, and I barely had to move to go through everything. It was one of my favourite rooms in the house, besides my dance studio… and maybe the cinema.

I lazily stared at the ceiling and declined a few voice chats that would pop out in front of me, music blaring from my earphones as I did so. I did want to talk, but I wanted to listen to music too, so I had a dilemma, and I wanted to buy upgrades for SNIX anyway.

I entered the right page on the floating screens around me, quickly typing a goodbye to a friend and logging out of all social websites to I wouldn't be distracted and buy something I wasn't sure of.

I slowly went through each gun that lay at my fingertips, well SNIX', but still. I grinned when I found something I liked. The range was amazing, it was nearly a missile!

"Me likey," I mutter as I point at the screen to signal my purchase. I quickly scanned through the other sections, buying bullet proof vests and ammo for SNIX. I knew this battle was going to be hard; all the other Players were desperate to kill me/SNIX. It isn't my fault I'm awesome, they're just player hatin'. I lay back with a huff and closed my eyes, letting myself relax and flexing my muscles.

I had dance class in an hour, and I had to get ready, but I wanted to relax for a while. I had another Slayer's match soon. I wasn't nervous, I knew I could win easily but I still wanted to relax.

Then again, dancing would stretch out my muscles and relax me even more. I smiled weakly and got up, hitting a button on the wall and watching the walls fade to black, before leaving the room and skipping through my huge, gleaming house with a smile on my face.

**A/N: Leave a review if like, or hate, just let us know. Also, if you have any questions, PM us at one of our single channels, the links are in our bio.**

**-S**


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